


If I kiss you where it's sore, will you feel better?

by avocadoapocalypse



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Violence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, actual trash bc I wrote this between 1am and now and did NOT edit, based on the song "Better" by Regina spektor, boris' dad is a piece of shit, but listen listen I can make them be soft, my first vegas fic!, regina owns my heart, so do boris and theo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:02:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21603430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avocadoapocalypse/pseuds/avocadoapocalypse
Summary: Boris' dad is awful. Theo tries to make him feel better. loosely based on the song "Better" by Regina Spektor.
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 20
Kudos: 191





	If I kiss you where it's sore, will you feel better?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curlymcclain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlymcclain/gifts).



> Now I've written an Antwerp fic AND a Vegas fic, all I have to do is write an NYC fic and I'll have achieved the holy trinity of tgf fanfics

When Boris showed up outside my door that night, I knew something was wrong. He hadn’t been at school that day, which wasn’t unusual for us except that whenever Boris skipped school, he would tell me beforehand and we’d skip school together. We would probably spend the day getting high at the playground or just hang out and relax in my dad’s house where there was air conditioning. One look at Boris’ bloody face told me that his day today had been the opposite of relaxing. 

“What the fuck, Boris! Are you ok?” I asked. Upon closer inspection, most of the blood on his face was dried, but there was impressive bruising around his left eye and across his cheekbones. Without asking, I knew immediately what had happened. The only reason Boris hadn’t stayed at our place last night was that his dad was coming home.

“Yes, Potter, I’m feeling excellent, thank you for asking,” he deadpanned. Then in a more forced cheerful tone: “Is not as bad as it looks! Let’s watch movie!”

Knowing better than to press further at the moment, I shut the door behind him. “Dad and Xandra are out for the night again, just don’t get blood on anything.”

We ended up in our usual places, curled up on the couch in front of the TV. Boris had managed to smuggle out a bottle of vodka from his dad’s stash- “Old fuck passed out drunk on floor! Good thing he did, I was able to get out with this!” He held out the bottle and wiggled his eyebrows. That was all the invitation I needed. We passed the bottle back and forth, chatting and bickering until the light from the TV blurred my vision. I couldn’t have told anyone what we were watching, as I’d long since given up on paying attention. 

I shifted my position on the couch, wrapping one arm around Boris. But instead of leaning into the contact like he normally does, he winced. I couldn’t stop the concern from seeping into my voice. “Are you sure you’re ok? What did he do to you?”

He gestured as if to wave me off. “I told you, Potter, am fine!”

But even with the alcohol I was too quick for him, grabbing the edge of his shirt and lifting it up. I let out an involuntary gasp. Oh. Angry purple bruises blossom across his ribs. Boris froze and looked at me like a deer in the headlights. 

I know he hates it when I worry about him. But how could someone claim to love him and then hurt him like that?  
He pulled his shirt back down. “It’s fine.”

It’s NOT fine! I wanted to scream. But maybe I’m a hypocrite. We’ve given each other split lips and bloody knuckles more times than I can remember. Even so, whenever Boris’ dad hits him, it’s all I can do to restrain myself from going after Mr. Pavlikovsky. I just don’t want him to hurt Boris anymore.

“I hate that he does that to you! How can he treat you like that and then claim he loves you? Maybe he broke another rib! I just… I don’t want you to be in pain. You deserve better than that.” My voice had started out loud and angry but gotten smaller and softer until that last pathetic plea. “I want you to feel better.”

Boris, ever the type to crack a joke or downplay his own pain, looked a little surprised at my outburst. He looked at me with wide, shining eyes. Surely he knew how much I hated that his father abused him? But maybe I would normally go along with whatever he said and try to comfort him just by being there. I can do that. 

“Whenever I would get hurt as a kid, my mom would do something to help me feel better… Wait, no, that’s stupid, sorry, I don’t know…” I trailed off, but Boris wanted to know.

“What would she do, Potter?”

Between the alcohol and the emotion of seeing Boris vulnerable like this, I summoned up the courage to tell him with a straight face. “She would kiss it better.” As stupid as that sounded once I said it out loud, I was in too deep to back out now, and Boris, for once, wasn’t rushing to make fun of me. Maybe he believed I could help take some of his pain away. Maybe he just wanted a distraction. Either way, I couldn’t say no to him.

Boris sniffed and laughed softly. “Is worth a try, yes?” he leaned back on the couch and pulled up his shirt again. Suddenly hyper aware of where our bodies made contact, I leaned over awkwardly and pressed my lips to his bruised side as gently as possible. It’s just Boris, it’s just Boris, he would do the same for me, it’s not weird. It’s only me. 

Boris exhaled and I feel his body shift as he breathed. I don’t know why I did it, but I placed my hand on the creamy white skin of his stomach and stroked him gently. I felt him shiver under my touch and shifted my attention back to the bruises. 

My mother would always know just what to say when I would come to her crying after a fall on the playground, even if the right thing was just whispers of “shhh, puppy” in my ear. She would dry my tears and kiss my cuts and scrapes and make everything alright again. I miss when my world was simple enough that her touch and her voice would take all my tears away.

Boris was beautiful in a sort of a haunting way, the way a marble statue was beautiful. He was all sharp lines and hard angles, concave stomach and rib cage and white skin that seemed to almost glow in the dark like a vampire. But Boris lacked the empty eyes of a statue, and he wasn’t cold and still. He proved this by moaning softly as I kissed another bruise on his side. Probably from his father’s cane. “Shh, Borya. It’s ok. You’re ok. I’m here.”

I maneuvered myself so that I could whisper directly in his ear. I murmured the same kind of comforting nonsense while trying to avoid falling off the coach. Boris rolled over a bit so that his non-bruised side was pressed against the couch and wrapped his arms around me. A feeling of warmth flooded through me and I felt my whole body relax.

“Ha! You missed some, you idiot!” He said suddenly.

“What?”

“More bruises on my face! Come on, Potter, kiss them better!” His tone was almost mocking, but his facial expression was one hundred percent serious. 

Our faces were only 6 inches apart and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face. I buried my hands in his curls, swallowed the lump in my throat and the butterflies in my stomach, and closed the gap between us. 

I ghosted my lips over his cheekbones. I kissed the tip of his nose and then his cheek, trying not to hurt him any more than he already was. I tasted the salty tang of blood. I remembered a time when I’d punched him in the face and then he’d kissed my bloody knuckles. Was that even real? Everything was starting to feel like a dream.

Before I could let the rational side of me take over, I crashed our lips together.

Immediately I pulled back. No matter how drunk we were, even when we were doing… whatever it was we did when we were both bored and horny, we never kissed on the lips. Even though we’d never discussed these boundaries, there are some lines that can’t even be crossed under the covers in the dark.

Anything else could be explained, really. Kissing on other body parts? Tonight I was just trying to make Boris feel better, like my mother used to do for me. The other thing? We didn’t have girls around, that was all. It didn’t make us gay.

And yet there I was, kissing Boris. Before I had any more time to overthink, he closed the gap between us again. His lips were chapped but soft, and they were moving against mine, and my stomach felt full of fireworks.

In one decisive movement, Boris had unspokenly said: “Fuck the rules.” That was always his philosophy anyways, whether the rules were school rules or laws or, so it seemed, unspoken agreements we had with each other. He was kissing me and I was kissing him back. He was silently saying “I don’t care what anyone thinks. Nobody can see us now. I want this.” I was the one who knew him best. I was the one he wanted to come home to. I was the one who saw all his bruises and scars and wanted to make the world hurt him a little less.

Equally silently, I was yelling back at him “I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU.”

There was no use saying it. We wouldn’t remember in the morning. Did it really matter if we said it out loud? Saying it out loud was terrifying, and we both already knew well enough. This way was safer. Better.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written between 1am and now and I did NOT edit it. that's on me. I simply did not vibe with the idea of editing my fic at 4am.


End file.
